


even after all this

by starseas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Make up sex, Sad, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseas/pseuds/starseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>to love is to bruise and to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even after all this

The thing that Harry knows now is that to love is to bruise and to break. He knows that loving somebody is turning black and blue with the weight of everything you're feeling. It's cutting yourself open at the rib cage and bleeding out over the floor and over the bed sheets, hoping with everything you have that he'll still love you even after he sees that you're not as pretty on the inside.

The thing that Harry knows now is that being loved feels good and then it feels lonely, especially when the person who loves you doesn't like to say it out loud. Being loved is an empty flat at midnight, it's fading lilac bruises on a neck that doesn't belong to you anymore.

Harry breathes out slowly, shakily, resting his forehead down against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. The shower water washes over him like a storm, warm on his neck and down his back, warm over the small jut of his wristbone. The tub is small and mint-green, and the bathroom lights are off, the whole room swimming in shadows. He closes his eyes tight, slipping back into the soft sound of bathwater trickling around him, matting his hair down until it's slick and wet and falling into his eyes

Everything is hazy and out of focus and Harry just wants to go back to a time where he knew what he was doing, where knew that he was loving somebody worth loving, worth giving everything to.

He stands still beneath the showerhead, thinking about Louis, about the night where he came home early to find Louis pressed up against some faceless girl, her hands travelling up his shirt, splaying out over the pale plains of his back. She was beautiful. Delicate almost, with dark hair and fair skin, and legs that looked like moonlight

And it's not like Harry was surprised, he wasn't

He was angry and sad and numb, but he wasn't surprised.

He and Louis had been drifting apart for a long time now. It all started after Harry tried to talk to Louis about coming out officially, as a couple. It ended in a fight and Louis slamming the door, ended in a fight and Harry smashing plates. They didn't speak for weeks after that, just slept in the same bed with an endless stretch of distance between them—always orbiting but never coming close, never touching, never looking. They moved around each other like two planets in an empty universe, an infinite universe, maybe. It was just him and Louis, tucked away in the darkest corner of the galaxy, a lonely space that went on and on, and that was alright with Harry. It was alright because at the very least, it was still just him and Louis, just Harry and Louis, circling around each other, completely alone

Harry figured that they'd come back together at some point. Not soon, no, but maybe later, once things got better

So, no, he wasn't exactly surprised.

He was prepared, but it hurt like hell.

It still hurts like hell.

Harry shifts in the tub, letting the water pound over the nape of his neck as he stands there, naked and shivering even though the water is warm. He tries to focus in on that, on the tenderness of it, the pureness of it, but with his eyes closed tight like this, it's so easy to remember Louis. His image floats up from the dimness like a ghost, all milk skin and blue eyes—blue eyes so bright that they look like nothing—and Louis is lovely, he is, and Harry hates him, Harry loves him so much.

His bags are packed downstairs and this the last time he'll ever be in this bloody lion-clawed tub, because Louis has never even told Harry that he loves him, but Harry used to know, at least. Used to be able to tell by the weight of Louis' hand on the small of his back, by the warmth of Louis's mouth kissing up his thighs. He used to wake up in the morning to find Louis watching him from the other side of the bed, eyes soft and painted gold by the sunlight

His bags are packed downstairs and this is the last time he'll ever be in the same place as Louis, the last time he'll ever be apart of Louis' orbit. And he knows he shouldn't be upset, he knows that, but his memories are shifting into nothing, into everything, and it's the kind of thing that consumes him, the kind of thing that branches out from his spine and into everything

It's grainy pictures of him and Louis laying on a snowy shoreline, side by side, the cold blue waves crashing over their booted feet. (This is when Harry first realized that he could love this boy forever.)

It's him and Louis kissing for the first time, soft and gentle and growing desperate, mouths still tasting like black coffee and pumpkin spice. (Suddenly, forever doesn't seem like long enough.)

It's him and Louis making love on the kitchen floor (Harry called it making love, doesn't really want to know what Louis called it), mapping out each other's bodies, their breathing blurring out into one steady sound. (He could have died then, he was so happy.)

And then, and then—it's Harry coming home early to find Louis and that girl tangled together on the living room couch like they belonged there, looking beautiful and right, fitting together perfectly. Her face is a blind spot in Harry's mind now, but he remembers how Louis had glanced up, blinking and looking tired, tired, above everything else.

Louis hadn't even asked Harry to stay

That night, Harry had went into their bedroom and found Louis sitting up against the headboard, moonlight slanting in and coloring him silver. Harry'd sat down on the edge of the bed, too far but still too close, and he'd waited there for a moment before the silence began to smother.

I'm leaving he'd said, and the sound of it was deafening.

Louis had just shut his eyes. I know.

And that was it, and now they're over. They're over.

(Were they ever really anything else?)

Harry almost feels like everything's moving too fast, like he can't keep up. Everyone's standing just out of his reach, speeding up and out of sight before he can tell them to wait, to just wait for him. He's always loved easily, but never like this, never so much that he let it tear him apart. And it is tearing him apart. He's a broken boy for Louis, desperate and wanting, and he doesn't think that'll ever change.

"Jesus," Harry says, and it turns into a sob as he bangs his forehead against the wall, once, twice, his body shaking like a violin bow. He cries into the sound of running water, grasping at the tiles with his bare hands. His voice is thick, hysterical. "I can't do this, I can't. Oh god, I can't do this."

Harry is lost, a ghost made up of memories, and the only parts of him that exist are the places where Louis once touched him most. The ridge of his spine, the valley of his belly, the nape of his neck, his lips, his nose, his ankles. His cock. The rest of him is smoke, fading out into mist and then into nothing, never existing at all.

"Harry?" Someone asks, and Harry turns to find Louis poking his head in past the shower curtain, his blue eyes seeming like nothing but a dream. He looks tired, worn out. Beautiful.

Harry wants to hurt him, wants to hold him.

He wonders, if he were to kiss Louis, would he taste the girl there?

Wiping at his eyes, he pushes away from the shower wall. "Don't worry, I'm leaving soon."

"No, I—" Louis starts before pausing, swallowing. His eyes flicker over Harry's body before coming back up. "I was wondering if we could chat?"

"What is there for us to chat about?" Harry asks as move back to stand beneath the shower head. The water hums over him and he tries to ignore Louis' eyes on his naked body, but he doesn't shy away, either, stretching out beneath the downpour, eyes resting on the ceiling. "Oh, wait. You mean chat about the fact that you fucked somebody else. Of course."

"We didn't—I didn't have sex with her."

"You would have though, right?" Harry asks, gaze cutting back to settle on Louis. And now he's angry, sadness slipping away from him, his body burning red. He just wants to hurt this boy standing in front of him, he wants to make Louis feel something more than the nothing he's been feeling. So he decides to push, to push until he breaks something, anything, anyone. "If I hadn't come back to the flat, you'd have fucked her. Tell me you would have fucked her, Louis."

Louis is quiet for a moment and Harry tries to keep his breathing steady, tries to make it out like he doesn't care about Louis' answer. But he does care, because he's leaving soon and he just wants to know.

"No." Louis says, his eyes on Harry. "I don't think I could have."

Harry smirks and it's cold, glacial. "Couldn't you, though?"

"No." Louis sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I really couldn't. I mean I try to and I just—"

"Why?" Harry cuts in, "Why do have to try when I'm right here and I want you?" He's finished with his shower now but he keeps the water going as background noise, like it will make this all seem a bit less fucked up. "Wanted you," he corrects, swallowing.

Louis stares at him for a moment, not saying anything, and Harry can't tell what he's thinking, hasn't been able to for a long time. "Because," he says finally, and he speaks like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It scares me, all of this. Sometimes it's just a lot, and I, well Eleanor was just there and it all just happened—"

"Eleanor? Is that her name, then?" Harry asks, trying a smile.

"Don't." Louis says. "Don't act like you don't care."

"All you've ever wanted was for me not to care!" Harry shouts back, his voice shaking wildly. Suddenly it's like a floodgate opening up, like bright red light spilling out of him and into the space between them, looking like anger or maybe blood, maybe like everything he's ever kept hidden. "I've always cared, always, and you've just treated me like shit! You're the one who doesn't bloody care, Louis, not me!"

"You care?" Louis asks. There's something strange in his voice.

"Not anymore," Harry lies, quiet this time. "I'm done, Lou. I'm so done."

"You can't." Louis says, and then he's stepping into the shower, standing across from Harry in the small space. Sunlight floods in through the small window, shadows dancing across the soft edges of his face, and he's too close, Harry thinks. He's way too close. "Please, don't. Don't say that."

"Right, that's your thing." Harry replies, just wanting to leave, even though he fucking loves this boy standing in front of him—he loves him so much that he aches with it, so much that it weighs him down.

Louis stays quiet and they shift into a long stretch of silence, the only noise coming from the shower, which is still running, warm drops of water washing down Harry's body like a stream. Louis watches, blue eyes shining in the dimness.

"I care." Louis says suddenly, voice desperate over the sound of rushing water. "I know I act like I don't, but I care about you so much and Eleanor, she was a mistake. She was a mistake and it didn't mean anything and I don't know why I did it, but I'm so sorry, and I don't want you to go." He pauses, swallowing. "I don't want you to go, Harry. I'll die if you go."

"And you'll die if I stay," Harry answers, but his mind is spinning because Louis just said that he cares and Louis' never said that before. Does it mean anything? Does it matter if it does?

"Of happiness, maybe." Louis says, and he tries to smile, but it falters, falls off. And he still looks beautiful.

"Louis," Harry groans, pushing wet curls away from his face. "You can't do this. You can't just go and do what you did and then come and do this, alright? You can't."

"I know." Louis answers, and then he's stepping closer, too close, too far. "You don't have to love me, Harry, but please don't leave. I don't want you to go. We can be—um, we can be friends."

"Like I can just make myself stop loving you." Harry tries to sound angry, but it just sounds sad, broken. The water washes it away and the words swirl down the drain, lost.

Louis catches it, though, the sound of Harry's voice, the wavering of it. "You—" He starts before trailing off, biting at his bottom lip. "Do you, um. Do you still?"

Harry considers lying. He considers saying fuck off, but then, what's the point anyways? His bloody eyes still feel heavy from crying. So instead, he sighs, scratching at the nape of his neck. "Fuck, Louis. You know I do. You've always known, and it's never mattered."

"It's always mattered," Louis says, and he's even closer now, standing in front of Harry as the water pounds down onto his head, trickling down his face and making his eyelashes thick. Harry freezes when Louis' hand comes up, thumb brushing over Harry's cheek, fingers resting on the nape of his neck.

"Louis—"

"If I told you I loved you, right now, would it matter?" Louis asks, pale eyes flickering between the green of Harry's.

And Harry, well. Harry's dizzy, he's spinning in place, around and around and around in his head. If I told you I loved you, if I told you I loved you. The words blur into the water until it all sounds like a song, echoing through the room, through his body, through his soul. "I don't know," he says, honest.

"If I told you that I want your legs and your belly and your neck, that I want all of you, good and bad, would it matter?" Louis asks, fingers ghosting over Harry's scalp. Harry exhales sharply, eyes falling shut, and Louis kisses over his eyelids, slow, the warmth of it going straight to Harry's groin. "If I told you that this morning, I phoned my mum and I told her that I was in love with my best mate Harry, and that I then told Zayn and Niall and Liam the same thing, would it matter?"

Harry swallows shakily, eyes still closed. "Why'd you go and do that?"

Louis laughs, a sad sort of sound, and then he sighs, thumbs trailing over Harry's cheekbones. "Because I love you, Haz. I love the hell out of you."

Harry's eyes blink open, wide and green and sort of angry, because he can't believe that Louis just said that, after everything, after pushing him away, not speaking to him, not touching him. Not looking at him. "What?"

Louis sees the look on Harry's face and he breathes in slowly, resting his forehead against Harry's, almost like he's going in for a kiss. He doesn't, of course not, but Harry's legs still shake when the words fall onto his mouth. "It's always been you."

And then Louis' wrapping his arms around Harry in a hug, and it's so childish and so stupid that Harry can't help but fall into it, his naked body pressed against Louis' clothed one. It's so warm and so full and they're touching at the hips and at the knees and at the shoulders, and it's this that Harry's been missing—Louis, close to him, not in his orbit but part of a constellation that's made up of just the two of them, standing together and shining.

"You messed me up," Harry says, and his voice is muffled against Louis' neck. Louis' neck, a neck still covered in marks that Harry's mouth didn't make. He breathes in shakily, pulling his hands through Louis' hair. "You fucked me up in the head."

"I know." Louis says, words blurred around the edges. "I'm sorry."

"I can't do this, Lou." Harry breathes, and the soft lilt of running water almost drowns out the sound. "I don't know where to put myself when I'm around you."

"Just stay right here." Louis murmurs, pressing his lips to Harry's neck, to the soft line of his jaw, to the space where his mouth dips down into a chin. "Just stay close to me, yeah?"

Louis moves back, resting his forehead on Harry's again, their mouths only a breath away. Harry's whole body is on fire, filling up with light, but he keeps still because he's always the one that loves more, always the one that reaches out first, that touches first, that falls first

Louis scratches at the nape of Harry's neck, leaning in just a little before stopping, and there's something in his movements that feels stilted, like he's hesitating. Why would he be hesitating?

"Lou?" Harry asks, quiet, shivering beneath the warm water.

And then Louis kisses him, Louis kisses him for the first time in weeks, and it's good, Harry thinks dizzily, it's better than good. It's white-hot heat exploding between them like stars, filling the space up with a warmth so bright that Harry can barely see through it. Louis' lips are chapped as they move over Harry's open mouth, warm tongue licking inside, and the bathwater rushes down from above, trickling over their faces like small storms

And the taste is all Louis, just Louis, no one else.

It's enough to make Harry want to cry.

"I've missed you so much." Louis sighs, and his words are shaking, so Harry swallows up the sound, kissing back roughly, his hands coming up to cradle Louis' face

"I haven't gone anywhere." He speaks into Louis' mouth and his voice is ruined, eyes growing heavier, the whole world blurring. He feels the tears welling up in his throat again, suffocating. "I've been here, Lou. I've just been trying to find you."

"I'm sorry, Haz. Fuck. I'm so sorry." Louis says and then he moves away after a moment, cool air slipping into the space where his body used to be. Harry stays quiet, watching as Louis strips out of his clothes, the line of his pale body stretching and shrinking. And then he's standing naked across from Harry, shadows dancing over his face, body flushed pink by the warmth of bathwater. His cock is hard between his legs.

"Christ, Louis." Harry breathes, but the words are sinking with some sort of sadness, some sort of nostalgia for what's happening right now. His legs are shaking and the love is building up inside of him like a stone temple—the kind of love that people write songs about, the kind of love that people die for. "You're so beautiful."

Louis blinks slowly, moving back towards Harry and wrapping his arms around, his hands resting low on Harry's backside. Their cocks are hard and pressed together and when Louis starts rutting his hips against Harry's, the friction is enough to make Harry's head spin, to make his vision shift and blur, come back into focus.

Pale bruises cover Louis' neck and Harry presses his mouth down on every single one, biting roughly and then licking, taking back what's his. Louis groans and grinds against him and it's hot and messy and rough and it's never quite felt like this, like the start of something, or the end of whatever was happening before.

His hands fall from Louis' face onto Louis' neck, wrapping around like they could choke him, and he presses Louis back against the cold tile of the wall.

"I hate you so much," he says, but his voice hitches around a sob and then he's crying into Louis' mouth as he kisses him, rough and desperate, their bodies sliding together as they move. He pulls back, resting his head against Louis' forehead and breathing heavily. His hand lowers down until it settles between them, on the small stretch of Louis' lower stomach. "How could you let her touch you here, Lou?"

Louis rolls his head back, arching up into the warmth of Harry's hand. "Fuck, I was stupid. I was so stupid—"

Harry shuts his eyes, his forehead slipping down until it's resting on Louis' shoulder, his hand slipping down until he's taking hold of Louis' cock. "And here."

"Harry." Louis groans, and then Harry starts pulling at Louis' cock, a slow back and forth motion that goes straight to his groin, to Harry's, because he hasn't touched Louis like this in forever, hasn't been able to make Louis feel good, and he loves making Louis feel good.

Harry presses kisses to Louis' shoulder, mumbling lazily into the skin there. He keeps his hand moving around Louis' shaft, pulling and twisting, kissing messily at the hollow line of Louis' throat. "We're so fucked up, Lou."

"I know. I know and I love you." Louis says, swallowing, voice strained as Harry's hand twists around his cock. "I keep trying to stop it and I can't, I just can't and—oh, fuck—I uh, I need you near me, always."

Harry shuts his eyes tightly against Louis' shoulder, listening to the sound of the water as it streams from the showerhead. "You can't—you can't keep pushing me away, okay? I feel like dying when you push me away."

"Yeah." Louis says after a moment. "Yeah, I feel like dying too." And then he's turning around, resting his cheek down against the cold shower wall. Harry's breath catches as he watches Louis in the dimness, watches the soft slope of his nose and the shadows that his eyelashes cast across his cheekbones, ghostly. Louis glances towards Harry, stretching out, his blue eyes looking like shallow pools of light. "Come on."

Harry laughs, breathless, and the sound of it is drowned out by running water. He moves until he's standing behind Louis, legs trembling, and he rests his hands on the jut of Louis' hipbones, hard enough to bruise. His green eyes are narrowed and when he pushes in, Louis tenses beneath him, just a little bit, before relaxing and pushing back, a small moan falling from his lips

And it's unlike anything—unlike anything, ever.

Harry can hardly breathe and he focuses in on the warmth of having Louis around him like this, on the brightness of being back where he belongs, in this solar system made up of him and Louis, himandLouis. He's missed it so much. Louis falls back, resting his head on Harry's shoulder, and then they're kissing again, panting wildly against each other's mouths. Harry licks out over Louis' bottom lip and they're both completely soaked through, wet hair falling into their eyes, grinding up and down like they've been waiting for this, like everything's been leading up to this moment.

They break apart—Louis resting his elbows on the wall, head falling down into the space between his arms—and Harry keeps going, pushing in and out, his toes curling into the porcelain of the mint-green tub. He's close now, pathetically close; heat spreads through him and the depths of his stomach seem to be filling up with static.

Arousal buzzes through his veins, every nerve-ending bursting with light and exploding into stars, and something else, something softer. Harry groans, falling forward so that his cheek is resting on Louis' back, and he wraps his hand around, taking hold of Louis' cock again.

"Fuck." Louis moans softly, and then he's coming, chest heaving, and of course it doesn't take long for Harry to follow after that. His hitched groan floods through the small bathroom, blurring in with the soft sound of running water, his whole body shaking.

Louis turns around and Harry kisses him, pushing him back against the wall, hands tangling up in his wet hair. They kiss like that, desperate and searching, until Louis breaks away, lowering down, his knees pressed against the floor of the tub.

"Lou?" Harry asks, pushing hair away from his face.

Louis doesn't answer, he just wraps his arms around Harry's waist and rests his cheek against Harry's naked crotch, breathing in slowly, back rising and falling like the sea. "Don't leave," he says, and it's so soft, so simple, that for a moment Harry doesn't hear it. But then Louis breathes out, shutting his eyes. "I'm a stupid prick but I love you. I've always loved you. Don't let me push you away."

Harry's throat is heavy and he swallows, blinking against the wetness of his eyelashes. "I couldn't leave if I tried."

Louis nods and Harry can feel him smiling against his thigh as he places a kiss there, so soft that it's barely anything at all. Except it is something, it's everything, and when Louis moves away from him Harry watches as he lays down in the tub, looking pale white against a stretch of faded green. His heart is expanding in his chest, so much that he feels like it's going to explode, and he kneels down until he's laying beside Louis in the small space, both of them facing each other, grinning slowly as water falls down from above and washes over their legs.

They're both naked and Harry's hard again but he thinks that can wait, so when Louis opens his arms, Harry moves into them, pressing his face into the bend of Louis' shoulder and just breathing in. Just like that, he's crying again—small muffled cries that send his body trembling as he lays there in the mint-green tub with the boy that he's loved ever since he found out what the word meant.

Louis hugs Harry tightly, kissing all over his wet hair, and they're curved into each other like two pieces of a whole. They stay like that for a while, the soft sounds of their breathing blurring together in the quietness of the bathroom.

And when Harry sighs it sounds like I love you.

And when Louis shuts his eyes and slips into the silence, it feels more like I know. I know, and it's always mattered.

Later, when moonlight is flooding in through the open windows and coloring their bedroom silver, Louis helps Harry put his clothes back in their drawers, and then they fall into the bed and kiss until the world around them blurs and fades out, both of them slipping into a dream where they kiss even more.


End file.
